Showing posts with label Flash Fiction. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Flash Fiction. Show all posts
February 23, 2013

Love Eclipsed? - Romantic Friday Writers

Time for another round of  RFW - Romatic Friday Writers February Challenge

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings among other things in this fan fiction spoof are the property of Stephanie Meyer, author of the Twilight series of books. The original characters and original plot are the property of author Stephanie Meyer. This author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material pertaining to the Twilight series of books or the Twilight motion pictures. No copyright infringement is intended in this fan fiction.

*A disclaimer for my readers...this follows the first person account of Bella and uses long, extraneous sentences as found in the original books. The setting is towards the end of the second book - New Moon where Bella, Edward and Alice are held hostage by the Volturi - the vampire royalty while in Italy. Bella's knowledge of the existence of vampires threatens their secret existence in the world. Unlike her beau and his family of vegetarian vampires, these are true, cold blooded vampires who prey on humans.*

We stood in the red room - Alice and me, not Edward - as you will find out soon enough, surrounded by red eyed men and women who looked more like diminutive porcelain dolls that  licked their lips every other second. Yes, I have been keeping count, nothing much to do as usual for me. I turned around at the noise as Felix snarled/smirked at me. I can never tell the difference with these pale, stoned faced monsters even after spending all my spare time with a similar pack of seven back home.

Hush! Bella! these are not monsters. 

I caught Alice's eyes long enough to find disapproval there and I rejoiced, only to be dejected a minute later for the glare in her golden eyes was directed at me.
I tried to erase my thoughts but it was too late, reminding me of the disadvantages of living with a seer, a sore point with Edward. He claimed and I had counter argued, and now I realised what how right he had been.

He had proclaimed to be a monster, not good enough for me. He was no monster, my Edward, he had proved it today, falling into an silent, unsightly heap on the floor diagonally across from me, no match for Aro's boys. I see him for the first time, his true self, an ageless but delicate, sparkling creature that called itself a vegetarian vampire.

Boy, was he way off when he said, "Bella, you are not good for me.'"

The bright smile flashed and my heart ached to see "him" in person once more. 
When I get out this mess alive, I am making amends to Jake. Will he take me back?
Edward was cold and icy to hot bodied Jake. His kisses, duh, if you could call those pathetic attempts one, fleeting, neither here nor there. 
Am I glad these pale faces cannot read my mind.

"There you go again," The wolfish smile on Alice's face said it all. I let myself be content with images of Jake tinkering with my bike, and being held in his hot, sweaty arms.

"Dream on, Bella. Edward is a classic stalker boyfriend who will not leave you alone now." She said to me, her voice so soft I could barely hear it. "I am sorry, Alice." 
"You owe me one." her words as cryptic as Aro's smile.

All I remember is being dragged through the dark, damp tunnel that went on and on.
"My heart hurts." I said to no one in particular.
"Sorry Bella, I forget my vampiric strength sometimes," The pixie looked very happy. "Let's go shopping."
I groaned. "You owe me one, remember." "Where is Edward?"  I had to ask out of sheer politeness, not that I cared.
As the door bell rang, she muttered, "Just in time." "I'll pick you up at 3. Have something, I can hear your stomach grumble." She vanished as always, not before yelling, "Don't wear your grandma clothes!"
Jake stood at the door. I caught my breath. I was going to faint. He held me, a little too tightly for comfort.
He sniffed the air angrily. Was Edward in the house?  I looked around, afraid and irritated. 
He turned to me, "Tell your leech friend, all the perfumes in the world can't hide her stink from us."
I relaxed and grinned when he whispered,"Just the two of us now. He's gone, that leech of yours."
"Where?" A stab of guilt tore at my heart. "He chose to be Aro's bodyguard." 
 My life was no longer dark. .A streak of blinding light illuminated my twilight sky. Bella was not that streak of light as I has long believed, Renata was. Bella's brain held no secrets. Renata, my partner, had shown me that. I had made a promise to Alice and I kept it. Bella was not my first kill, someone close to her had been. Jake was in for a nasty surprise when he went home tonight.
666 words (suprising isn't it?)

Hi folks, I am attempting a story after two long months...don't be too hard on me.

I was the guest at Nutschell's blog for Wednesday Writers Workspace...Do visit to know about my writing habits and a bit about me.
August 17, 2012

A Magical Journey

My  late...late entry for the WHAT IF? Fairytale Madness BlogFest! 
·          Best Love Story

Sadat seemed pleased as he turned to me. His long, delicate fingers created butterflies in the air and as usual in my gut.
"The Sultan, may the merciful one give him long life, has agreed to annul our wedding. But..."
I knew it! The greedy, 'honey with noodles' loving character hadn't changed in all of my 17 years on this dwelling of humanity. 
Sadat, my gazelle eyed beauty, was harping about the other crook in our lives, his father - the vizier. 
"Two marble palaces with walls encrusted in precious stones?"  Did I hear that right? The ethical djinn world was restive as it is with the marked lack of Arab spring out here. 
Sometimes, I wish I hadn't found the lamp. At least, Jasmine was out of Sadat's life. What was she thinking, flirting with my boyfriend in a transparent two piece?...Shaitan forbid, even my djinn has picked up her silly song as his welcome tune. I linked my coarse, browner hand in Sadat’s and sighed...
His face was adorned by an enchanting smile that revealed his pearly whites. Time to wake up the 'A whole new world' guy.  Rubbing the magical lamp never felt so good.

"Well, well, well! What have we here?" Imhotep ran his fingers over this shiny, bald pate. The crystal had revealed more than he had hoped for. His naughty 'nephew' was alive and the magic lamp--so near and so far. His eyes took on a glassy look, his pupils dilated and he drew a sharp breath at the sight of the pretty boy seated next to the thief.
'The temple of Anubis would be barren without this jewel.' He rubbed his ring. 
“My Akka, your wish my command." 
“Kublai Khan's Palace,” resonated through the empty chamber.

*Shaitan - Satan *Akka - Master 
* Imhotep -  High Priest, Egyptian architect, engineer and physician elevated to demigod, given evil traits in novels and myths.  "A greedy immortal here".

*Kublai Khan - Grandson of Mongol Leader Genghis Khan, created the Yuan Dynasty of China and played host to the Italian traveller Marco Polo.

Wc 290
* Got tired of writing hetero romances...

August 10, 2012

A Coincidence?

Time for another round of  RFW - Romatic Friday Writers

Challenge 42- I need a change.

I wandered into the balcony tempted by the cool breeze and the tantalising view of the golden sands. Sips of the invigorating cup of spiced tea while listening to the melody of the small town rousing itself from sleep formed my daily routine. I enjoyed hearing the slapping sounds of pigeons from adjacent cottages and the clanging horn of children’s bicycles as they passed by.
Peace proved elusive today and the noise grated on my nerves. This trip hadn’t turned out as well as I hoped, even my daughter’s imminent arrival from London failed to cheer me up.
His indifference hurts. It went back decades and I am used to it. Why did it nag me now?
Sundar is a liberal man, but his modernity extends to the children alone. For me, he is the husband cast in the mould of my father and grandfather before him. Disciplined men yet rigid in their set ways. My husband is in Singapore trying to solicit new customers for our knit wear factory.
 The textile industry has taken a hit given the global slowdown. With the high labour turnover and the power crisis in our state we may have a white elephant on our hands. The workers won’t be getting a bigger bonus, if they received one.
I took another sip and let out a sigh. I had an easy life. I shouldn’t be complaining.
He had been more enthusiastic than me over our ladies club’s week long sojourn to Goa. Why didn’t he take me with him? As the chief merchandiser, I could scout their retail markets while he attended the trader’s meet. I hadn’t visited our office in a month. The three projects on hand were on schedule, and the juniors competent enough to oversee the day to day activities. They kept me in the loop with emails and calls.
“Anita, a package for you.” My childhood friend, Dina‘s voice filtered through. Who could it be?
“Go on, open it.” My friend seemed to be onto the secret. “It from him,” she whispered.
What an age to turn romantic. Was my college sweetheart returned to me? I almost tore open the envelope in my haste.
 The papers fluttered down from my hands. My friend raced against the wind to retrieve them.
I watched, as her light coloured cheeks turned crimson. “Bastard,” was all I heard before my head hit the floor.

 Wc 400
 FCA - full critique acceptable

* Do visit on the 12th  to catch J.C Martin's, author of recently released mystery thriller Oracle, interview...there is a  Giveaway with three prizes for 3 winners that runs till Sept 2. 
May 22, 2012

Journey's End? - Flash Fiction Blogfest

It's the 2nd Annual Flash Fiction Blogfest (may21-23) hosted by Cherie Reich to celebrate her third year blogversary. It doubles up as a competition with three winners getting Amazon gift cards.  Open voting on may28.
Check out the linky list of other flash writers here.
A piece of flash 300 words or less beginning with the words Lightning Flashed.

Lightning flashed in the distance. They sans one huddled closer drawing comfort from each other. The swirling black clouds were visible indicating that their journey was at its end. Yet, darkness would arrive before them. The winding road seemingly friendly an hour ago was at its treacherous best. The trees lining both sides were gnarled in places, hideous stumps at others, the roots spreading out onto the pathway like greedy fingers. The leafless branches rustled and bent towards them. This is an illusion. The shaman’s dying warning echoed. Icy hands trailed through their limbs. Fear, the warriors accepted, welcomed, but this unseen entity chilled their hearts, dulled their instincts, made them cower like the villagers they were bound to protect.
Ashan, the self appointed leader, twirled his blood stained scimitar. Basher balked at the other’s impatience, then nudged the unsure group forward. He waited for the one tagging behind. She moved with firm, alert steps belying her tender age. She had impressed Bashir by offering to be the bait. The council had happily agreed.
 He had sworn then to protect her with his life.  
A flash of light revealed the looming grey castle. Thunder made its presence felt. Then. Utter silence. They stopped a few feet away from the gates. Ashan turned to Bashir. “Take the girl and walk ahead. We follow close behind.”
Why single me out? “Come. It’s time.” in the kindest tone he could manage.
One of the gates unbolted, wide enough for a person to pass through.
 He stopped her as she moved forward. “I go first.”
The iron door closed behind them. Bashir rushed back trying in vain to wrench it open.
His reward was bloodied fingers.
Yasmin watched him, the slow hunger now a raging need. The warrior’s blood smelled sweet. A feast tonight.

Wc 300 Exact.
*Love using Asian characters since they are few and far between beyond our shores.

Flash Fiction Blogfest

May 16, 2012

Light Hearted Magick?

She giggled...Neeta struggled to keep a straight face lest they draw attention to themselves.
Zack frowned, his irritation increasing with every passing minute. He could barely wait for the demo session to end.

Cathy, awaiting her turn, tried to catch their attention, her efforts only drawing puzzled looks from the twins seated behind them.
"Is something wrong with your eyes?" one asked 
When she didn’t respond “Trying to seduce my little brother, are we?"
'Little?' sizing up the boy who needed an entire bench to stretch his never ending limbs.
"That must be understatement of the century" with a quiet chuckle.
"Shut up jokers!" the other one hissed,
"I'll turn you both into bats if I get pulled up this time."
They glared at him, about to resort when she giggled again.

Zack got up in a huff only to freeze in place. Her warm hands pulling him back never failed to elicit the familiar response. Small, almost black eyes reprimanded him for breaking their contact abruptly.
Master, who had ignored them all this while was now forced to acknowledge the distraction from the eastern end of the chamber. He was aware of every thought, hushed whispers or otherwise. Faced with no other viable option, squelching the rumours that questioned his authority was a priority.  The first step towards the goal demanded that they be punished.
Pity, the girls were his best friend's nieces. Reluctantly, he called the three of them over.

Zack wasn't sure he could keep himself from casting the 'bent back' hex on the girls, seeing their calm, detached expressions. He didn't want to, not her anyway. He was pleasantly surprised when Master handed them the after session chores.
Planting seeds, magical ones at that was boring but not hard.

The sulking part of him did not share in his relief. This is not we had planned. The reminder was dampener on his spirits. He had volunteered to be the telepathic medium for the girls with an ulterior motive...a desperate need to find a clue, a confirmation of her interest in him. And here they were, digging up the soil with dancing hands, where he could have been plotting his next move with the guys. He didn't find his love for the 'flying ducks' night suit funny, she obviously did.


Today is  International Flash Fiction Day in the U.K...decided to post my fiction here and not on their site. You can check the other fantastic stories here.

* I got into Pottermore this week...a cute, interactive site. And while I received an Alder-Phoenix...they sorted me into bloody Gryffindor. I wanted to join Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff since we all know enough about the red house. Incidentally, I was put in a red house during my schooling years till 10th grade. I always envied my bro's blue badge.

* My nephews are turning up next week...surprise, as my bro is off to London for two weeks and the elder one has summer vacation till June 13. So June 4 is the only day I will be posting during the first week. I will be using my birthday to thank the bloggers/ettes whose awards I still have to acknowledge and pass on to the rest of you. Do visit the post, as I will be passing on certain awards.

* Any comments on the story welcome, but polite put downs please.
April 08, 2012

Time To Change - Tap the 'Humane' In Us?

She sat there sweating profusely, her temper matching the heat outside. Would this too turn out to be a failed attempt? The pressure from the officials had been mounting. New mouths to feed arrived at a steady pace every month, eating into her share of the allocated funds. Being the head of the orphanage was not a lucrative business any more. She was tired of pandering to the egos of higher ups and soliciting new clients for her husband's floundering real estate business at the same time. The dingy room saw less and less of her as days passed by.

 Rama Shankar* pushed his way through the wooden saloon doors, he didn't bother to knock. 
 If she hadn't been preoccupied, would have noticed the smug look that permeated his features these days. "The Pandeys called, Madamji."
"Again? Bringing her...Munni back?" Desperation reducing her voice to a hoarse croak.
"Who tells this poor man anything?" His voice always reminded her of grease scrapped from a steel plate.
 Must want to wash their hands off her. These religious, middle class ones are all the same, just empty talk. "What did you tell them?"
 "The usual, busy with inspection work." He seemed pleased with his lies. His eyes had a hazy quality to them. Had he been...? "How many times have I told you to stay off bhang during working hours?
"Do you want to lose this job too?"
With watering eyes, he quickly prostrated before her, "Have mercy on me, family man, my kids will starve to death." adding, "These kids are like my children, they need me."

He managed to convince her every time; she needed him to cover up her absence. She was about to give him another last warning when the noise outside distracted her. There was a flurry of running feet followed by steadier ones. Snippets of conversation in loud and soft voices could be heard. The rushing feet stopped at her door. Utter silence. The door swung wildly as burly policemen swooped into her space. 
 Two scared looking attendants along with a dozen children of different ages waited just outside the threshold. The Pandeys and a few other parents stood next to an important looking official. The collector and here? 
Munni? Why does she have a glum face?  Looking at the cowering ten year old who stood between her adoptive parents, a familiar sense of something amiss hit her. Something had happened, she was the one scared now. Putting on a brave face, hiding the tremor in her tone and turning to Baldev Singh, the inspector she recognised, "What is the meaning of this, Baldevji?"

Baldev turned to the collector who gave him an impatient nod.  He looked at her sadly. She was a decent woman and yet it had to be done. "Arrest warrants for you and this man here." pointing to the peon who was staring at Munni with a dazed look. 
"Arrest Warrant?" she repeated, bewildered.
"For the rape of Munni and four other minor girls adopted from the orphanage. There are also charges by some of the attendants," looking towards the door, "of being molested." 
"There must some mistake, surely, I would be aware of such happenings." 

"If you had been around and had bothered to notice the obvious signs." Pandeyji spoke for the first time. "We found blood stains on our daughter's clothes. She would't eat properly, woke up screaming every night, woudn't even let my brother hug her.
"One of my neighbours who is a child specialist felt that she had undergone recent trauma. A physical examination by an expert left us with no doubt. My daughter found the courage to tell us everything that happened to her here. So did the other girls." affectionately patting his daughter on her head. "Can we go home, daddy?" Munni asked softly.
"Come on, Baldev, take them into custody. We have to move the remaining children to a safer place, we haven't all day." The collector shook hands with the team and the parents before walking towards the other children.

* This is a work of fiction though it's based on ground reality. Names used are purely coincidental and bear no resemblance to those living or dead.

Children are our future, more so girls - the nurturers of such future...If protectors turn monsters, where do they go? Please love, protect and cherish them.

This post is written for the contest Stayfree-Time To Change on IndiBlogger

March 27, 2012

The Dance - New Beginnings

 This piece is for the blogfest at Unicornbell.

"Dya*, hurry. They are coming." I panted through the half open door. My ribs ached with every short breath taken.
Had never run so fast, doing 5 miles without a pause. The silence from within caused strange sensations in my stomach. The hinges creaked in annoyance as I pushed the obstruction away. The room was in disarray, everything upturned. From the centre of the hall I could see that none of the adjoining areas had been spared. There were wet, muddy shoe and foot prints overlapping as though jostling for valuable space.Three clear sets led me to the bottom of the stairs, to the bedrooms above. I crept up slowly unsure of what lay in wait, the Swiss knife transferred from the back pocket to my trembling hands.
I wouldn't wish the scene before my eyes on even Stefanek, the village bully. I vomited my morning meal on the dirtied carpet under my feet. A low moan from the nearest figure brought to life my fleeting courage. Wiping away the hot, furious tears I stumbled forward. She was still breathing. The book was safely hidden for now. I covered the shredded remains of her dress with a blanket, lifted her in my arms as tenderly as I could and fled through the back door.
I have been standing for more than an hour in the abandoned house on the hillock, watching with tired eyes and limbs the devastation below. Half glad Aishe* wasn't with me, conjured a mental image of the agonised screams of the dying. Her kind heart would have never permitted this. The other half willing to give up the world to see her awake and smiling. The swirling, blackish grey waters mirrored the stain on my soul. Large carcasses of their livestock and pieces of wood, the remnants of their mighty houses and boats floated idly along. Pity, a couple of young trees had to give way. The flood waters would take a week or more to recede, competently destroying whatever stood in their way including the fresh harvest.
This has been the most exhilarating dance I have ever attempted. The river, my companion and slave mimicked my movements as she spread over the accursed village. I played the Kristora* sparing the villages that didn't harm us. The memories gushed back, uninvited. My father's pleas of innocence falling on deaf, hateful ears. His last words before they staked him, "Make them pay."
They stole our land, our home, murdered my mother, violated the elder sister beyond human endurance. She sleeps the sleep of the living dead. 
A tiny hand tugs at my shirt sleeve, whining,  "Let's go. It's cold here."
I pull him into the warmth of my arms reluctantly, the adrenaline still coursing through my veins screaming 'Enemy'. Our clan control the elements, a gift passed from the mother to her first born. Grandma refused to let him die, so he lives to see the death of his unknown fathers with his eyes. My father had been the youngest of six, as powerless as the the ones who accused him of black magic.
I stood silently for a few minutes more before trudging back to the trees, the tall pines already casting their needles on the floor.
Harman* loves the rustling sounds around us. He turns back and forth in jerky movements causing my shoulders to ache some more.The clan believes that the winter winds are less harsh since his birth. We live deep in the forest. The ignorant folks in the valley below think it is enchanted and evil and refuse to enter. Sometimes, blind faith can be a blessing. We planted the stories for our survival.
The ancient book says that our ancestors came from the East, from the land of seven rivers. One day, we will journey back, beyond the narrow confines of our adopted homeland. Harman and me.
We live in tents now, easier to assemble and dismantle in times of danger. Grandma is waiting by ours with a scowling face. She knows, always does. 
"Where have you been wandering about at this hour?"
"Nowhere. Just attending to some unfinished business." as he jumps out of my hold and scampers off to the dinner fires.

Wc 703

*Dya - Mother, Kristora - the judges.
* The words used are Romani - the language of the Romas, the gypsies of Europe whose ancestors are said to have migrated  from northern and central India around 1000 years ago.
Linguistic and genetic studies prove with reasonable accuracy that they belong to existing Indian tribes of travelling musicians.
* I wanted to give the dancing aspect a magical touch.
March 23, 2012

A Ring Of Finality

*Used the phrase, with a necessary change in adaptation given the cultural setting*

'She wears my ring', the lingering smile on his face announced to all the attendees at the wedding reception.
His fidgety movements betrayed his impatience over her delayed appearance.
"Relax. These ladies always turn up late, must be busy with her makeover." said his cousin shrugging his shoulders casually.
His movements eased but barely so. His relatives had echoed similar sentiments, using different words at various stages of the wedding.
"Stop asking these silly questions. Brides are nervous on their wedding day."
His nosy aunt had stated, overhearing the words exchanged by him and the best mate.
"We girls are excepted to be shy and modest, at least on such days." The sister had butted in with her wise tuppence patting his arm for added effect.
Maybe they were right, they were experienced after all. Her quiet, solemn look, her rare glancing his way could be explained thus, couldn't it?
His heartache lessened and he went back to standing at the entrance to the lobby.
Through the final touches of make up, she twirled the diamond engagement ring.on her hand. Glancing at the mirror in front of her, the black and gold beads among other jewellery on her neck glinted back, signalling her married status.
She touched them gingerly with her finger tips eliciting a gentle admonishing from the beautician.
"Madam, please keep your hands down, the nail paint will get blotchy."
Inspecting her fingernails, the young girl sighed,
"See, I have to redo it." looking around for a bottle of remover.
She apologised with a smile and stared at the ring instead. Little joy there, rather the feel of it on her finger felt like a heavy weight on her soul. Her heart still beating for another. The charming boy with the impish grin who had wound his way into her heart, only to break it into countless pieces years later.
Her husband was a good man deserving more than she could offer. They were family friends, her parents adored him as his loved her. He had always encouraged her, made her laugh.
Her transfer would take time. This year of separation would turn out to be a blessing. Looking into his adoring eyes as he took her hand in his, she promised herself, he would never know that their marriage had begun as a compromise for her.

wc 388 .

March 17, 2012

Wee Story About Wee Creatures? - Got Green?" Blog O'Hop

For the get green bloghop at Mark's blog... I emailed him; about having nothing remotely Irish in me, though some 19th century Irish thinkers loved to postulate their theories of racial ties of Druids with Indian Aryans based on language similarities. He baited me in with the hook of a flash fiction on Wee men and their pot of gold. Well Mark, a belated St. Patrick's day.

Courtesy Karenswhimsy- public domain images
She came gliding in her emerald studded, golden glass slippers. The swishing of the grass gown, distracting.
 "Very green" grumbled one the members seated on the semi circular rainbow table, secretly wishing he was single.
"Energetic, not our trait." the wee woman's nasal snarl.
The hatted man chuckled happily, gathering ominous stares from the others. He ignored them, thrilled at the prospect of a female assistant. Bushy eyebrows and matching beards tortured his daily vision.
"Oh my! Exquisite shoes!"  the secretary with her hand on her heart.
" Boyfriend’s gift for St.George's day." Leaned closer and mouthed in her ear.
"English!! Ya codding me? Wind your neck in, Colleen," the older woman cautioned.
She laughed happily, showing off her perfect, square teeth made of gold.
She moved to where the impatient trio waited, pulled out a chair, and passed her green leather folder.
Pale hands went through the embellished cards neatly stacked in chronological order. Accompanied by sighs and eyebrows lifted in disbelief, it passed at last to the older man .
He winked at her; she winked back conspiratorially.
"Impressive accomplishments. A talented family indeed." He added with a smug look.
"King Midas?" barely withholding a snuffle.
"That would be my great-great-great grandfather. Tricked into touching his favourite daughter was so devious." 
The snarl turned into a smirk.
 The soon to be single man, "Explain Julius Caesar."
"His sister. Smart duo. As Cleopatra's bosom friend, she taught her the womanly viles."
"Who is Silas Marner?" 
"Oh...that would be Móraí...can I tell a secret?"
Wizened eyes sparkled. "She never..."
She looked at her uncle warningly. "She loved him. Espie foiled her plans."
"Dubai shopping festival?”
"Brother Patrick. They love gold even black ones ."
"What do you bring on board?"
"Federal Reserve vaults. Three bars for three plus three given."
Few minutes of hushed conversation,
"Welcome, our newest portfolio manag..."
The secretary interrupted, “ Lucifer on the line, again..."
“ Tell him, 'Leprechaun Gold Inc' are greed investors not soul collectors.”

WC 333
Not Irish, not Leprechaun but can I spin a tale? Tell me pleash...

For those unfamiliar with:
St.George's day - Holiday of patron saint of England
St.Patrick's day  - Holiday of patron saint of Ireland
Irish Slang
Codding me - kidding me 
Wind your neck in - be careful, think about it
Colleen - young Irish woman.
Móraí - Grandma in Irish Gaelic

March 08, 2012

The Tryst - Second Campaign Challenge

Using four of the prompts, doing a flash fiction, a pitch or logline,  an inspired poem.
attempting three of the  activities tied by a common theme,
in a genre never before attempted,
and requesting a critique.

Flash Fiction

All that was left was to wait it out.
He stared at her, elegant looking despite the wet hair from the drizzle that caught them unprepared. Shooing away the starving kids at the garbage dumps hadn’t been easy, grim remainders of his past. He shifted his leg stump away from the jetting rails of what had once been the bridge of Bridgewater town. The pain would resurface soon making travel a nightmare.
The message had been delivered, the bird in his trap, dawn bringing the well earned reward. He day dreamed of the golden patterns, enjoyable side effects of the pain killing serum.

In a happier time reflected in her grandfather’s picture in the burlap, the sneak would have a name not just a number. The one who had foreseen the rise of Stonia, now something evoking fear and despondency was long dead but the movement he co-founded was alive in the hidden depths. She often wondered what had turned the still beautiful woman into the epitome of sadism.
Eric, she felt an ache at the very sound... this pathetic human staring at her brought her closer to the goal, the mission’s success hanging on his ignorance.

wc 198


 In a world bereft of most natural resources, the International Council rules with an iron fist. The  self labelled high priestess and sadist Stonia, the true wielder of power ruthlessly mows any opposition. But the MOB, an underground resistance plots her demise, their reluctant assassin, the unassuming Charlotte, granddaughter of one of the founders,
A simple plan that needs only an image and the medical skills of the widow of the previous leader, finds her embroiled in a moral conflict that could sabotage the mission and destroy the movement...

Wc 89

Poem - Form 'Ode'

Grey cloaks the land,
Where once walked the green maiden
Lovely and captivating visions she spun.
The birds sang, the river hummed
the mad wind whistled in passing.
Happy faces, laughing eyes, scampering feet
were not yet yellowing postcard smiles.

She stood there, straight backed yet unsure,
taking in the detail,
stilling the mind and heart
with the skilled hands of years past.
The expectations weighed
heavy on her chest.
The spirit never truly waned nor wavered
until she met her,
The mother who could have been hers.

For the Rach Writes' Second Campaigner Challenge

Prompt 1: 
Two people are sitting together under the remains of a concrete bridge. Their backs are against a rusted bridge support. One person’s leg is cut. The other person has wet hair. 

Four picture prompts.

Do one or more of the following:
  1. Write a pitch/logline for a book based on the prompts (less than 100 words)
  2. Write a short story/flash fiction piece of less than 200 words based on the prompts
  3. Write a poem with a twist using the prompts as inspiration (in less than 200 words)
  4. Write a story/poem in five sentences, each sentence based on one of the prompts
  5. Write a poem/flash fiction piece (in less than 200 words) about the water pear *without* using the words “pear”, “spoon”, or “droplet”.
For added difficulty/challenge:
  • Complete at least three of the above activities and tie them all together with a common theme (feel free to either state the theme in your post or leave us to guess what it might be)
  • Write in a genre that is not your own
  • Ask Challenge entrants to critique your writing.
February 27, 2012

Evil Genius Blogfest

The Eagle's Aerial Perspective aka Golden Eagle turns two years old today!

 A flash fiction blogfest to celebrate the occasion...check the others there and vote for me if you like.
On the other hand forget entry gets lost among the writer crowds.

Create a story, in any format whether that's flash fiction or poetry, where the aforementioned character does something qualifying them as an evil genius. You can also choose an already-existing person, perhaps from one of your favorite books or movies--just tell us why you think they're the best.

He paced across the floor, impatiently awaiting the messenger’s return.
‘The fool of an imp must have left the mansion four hours ago, can’t these useless fools do one thing right?’
He dismissed his personal aide with a flick of the hand, causing the poor creature to crash onto the cold stone floor outside the room.
The crystal revealed nothing as yet.
‘The ancients had set strong wards…but not for long.’
The curse was almost ready. The final words of the mantra left, to be uttered on the blue moon night, two days hence.
Hidden by him in the old walls 150 years ago, it slumbered waiting the unleashing of its dark potency.
“Only the mad bat knows where…”
He chuckled loudly, scaring the Bagoons in the cages.
She had played her part well, all these years, and would soon be rewarded for her loyalty.
They would be ‘The Lord of the lands and his consort.’ with all the high born crushed under his heels.
The Council had exiled him over his dark aides as they called them. In reality, he knew that they were scared and envious of his newly acquired powers. The spineless cowards had been unwilling to break the ancient oath and grab at everlasting glory, proclaiming truth and light as the greatest gifts.
‘He would show them the meaning of greatness, true power.’
 A scrap at the open roof grabbed his attention, the vulture glided down, encircling the clustered room.
Casting a quick, non verbal spell; transformed the scavenger into the hideous shape of his slave.
Trembling hands handed him the silk scroll wrapped up in protective Kusha grass.
‘Remove the grass blanket!’ he thundered, pulling away his hand as though it had been singed.
If things went well, the hated Charis’, Shaks’ and Warriers’, in particular, would be graced by an ancient visitor on the next moonless night. The Green Dew would bring with it, this time, the Elder Borns’ decimation. 

Evil Genius

WC 327

* The villain from my Fantasy WIP- Restless, who won't appear before 20000 words at least.
* The story is basically set in India, loosely based on Indian Vedic magic and Arabic Magic.

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